Page 73 of To Love And To Cherish
I am quite overwhelmed! The Highlands are more beautiful than I could ever have imagined, vast, wild, and full of mystery. Every turn in the road reveals a view more majestic than the last: heather-covered slopes, tumblingstreams, and great forests with trees so ancient they seem to breathe secrets into the wind.
We are enjoying the most invigorating days. Adam has undertaken the formidable task of teaching me to ride, and I must admit he is both patient and good-humored, traits I find essential when dealing with a pupil so thoroughly unacquainted with the art as I. He has introduced me to a mare named Kelpie, as gentle and sweet-natured as her name suggests, and I am beginning to feel, for the first time, that I may not be a hopeless case after all.
Miss King is also taking lessons with Daniel, the youngest of the four Frazier brothers. He is all cheerfulness and easy grace, and his kindness has gone a long way in easing Mary’s nerves. She is still a bit stiff in the saddle, but I suspect she enjoys his company more than she lets on.
Miss Trent, of course, rides like a heroine from one of those gothic romances your brother pretends not to read. She and Lucas go riding nearly every morning, galloping off through the woods at a pace that makes me breathless merely to observe. I am beginning to suspect that she also enjoys these outings as much for the company as the scenery.
Our rides take us through pine-scented woods and past lochs that reflect the sky so perfectly they seem like pieces of the heavens fallen to earth. In the distance, the peaks are majestic, and the weather remains dry and bright. The air is brisk but not unpleasant, and it leaves one feeling as though she might conquer the world after a good gallop, though I have not yet dared more than a steady walk.
Everything here feels older than memory, as if time itself moves more slowly through these hills. I sometimes wonder whether the trees remember the footsteps of the ancient clans who once passed beneath them.
I hope all is well at Pemberley and that you are all in good health. I miss our quiet mornings, our long walks, and the ease of our conversations.
Do give my warm regards to Charles, Jane, and Kitty. Tell your brother that I am conducting myself admirably and have not insulted anyone, neither in English nor in Portuguese. He will understand the reference.
With affection,
Elizabeth
After the letter was read aloud, Darcy rose and crossed to the window, where he stood staring out, unseeing. The thought of Elizabeth spending hours alone with that man, no matter how patient or good-humored, sat ill with him.
He considered it further.Hisamiability, in truth, was the greater danger. Such qualities would draw Elizabeth in with little effort. A Highland laird, guiding her gently, spending hours teaching her to ride, while she looked up at him with those candid eyes, full of gratitude?
The idea stung.
He had taught Georgiana to ride. That Elizabeth should now turn to another felt like a betrayal, but why should it? He had never offered to teach her. He had made no declaration, had taken great care to remain free of entanglement. He had no claim on her affection. No right at all to feel as he did.
And yet, the jealousy curled in his chest like smoke, slow and suffocating.
The weather in Carrbridge was fine and dry. During the weeks in June and July, they rode daily, and then in the afternoons, played billiards in the great hall. Elizabeth and Miss Trent were quick pupils; Mary declined to play.
Adam taught Elizabeth Faro in the evenings. At first, she found it confusing, but soon she grasped the rules and developed strategies of her own. The company was lively, and the days passed pleasantly for guests and hosts alike.
One quiet afternoon, Elizabeth sat by the window of her chamber, a blanket of soft wool draped over her lap as she knitted for the child of a tenant family. The fire crackled gently nearby, and the low murmur of conversation between Mary and Miss Trent floated across the room. But Elizabeth said little, her hands moving in rhythm, her thoughts elsewhere.
She had come to know Adam well in the past weeks. He was attentive without being importunate, steady in his manner, with moments of quiet charm and the sort of dry wit she found unexpectedly delightful. More than once, she had caught a warmth in his eyes when they spoke, a fondness that revealed itself in the gentlest expressions.
She could not deny his interest; indeed, he had made it plain without ever overstepping. It was her own reserve, she knew, that had slowed him. He was giving her time to know him better, to open her heart at her own pace.
And yet…
She sighed and set her needles down, staring out at the mist that hung in the trees beyond the lawn.
She liked him and held him in deep respect. She might, in time, feel more. But at present, her heart remained unwilling. There was another who still lingered in her thoughts, no matter how fiercely she had tried to banish him. A man who had never offered her reason to hope, who had withdrawn so entirely she sometimes wondered if she had imagined their connection altogether.
Mr. Darcy.
She scolded herself for her folly. There could be no future with him. He had never pursued her as Adam did, never declared himself. She had been nothing more to him than a pleasant acquaintance, perhaps a passing curiosity.
And yet, her heart resisted. It clung to him with an unreasonable loyalty she could neither explain nor justify.
Elizabeth glanced back down at her half-finished knitting.
Gratitude for Adam’s patience was only right. If her heart were whole, she would offer it without hesitation; he deserved nothing less. A man like him ought to be met with both affection and promise.
Instead, there was only grief, for him, and for what could never be.
There had been no leading him on. Her manner remained open, but never inviting. And like the gentleman he was, he had never pressed her.
